


why do fools fall in love?

by stranded_star



Category: Holy Trinity (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 50s era, F/F, pin up girl, written for trinity week at tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stranded_star/pseuds/stranded_star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her pink lips are parted, just so, and Hannah can control her fluttery feelings around girls most days on the job, but there’s something about the way her blonde curls spill over her shoulders that makes her heart stumble and blush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	why do fools fall in love?

**Author's Note:**

> In which Grace is a pin up model inspiring Gil Elvgren’s painting “Cooling Off,” 1958, and Hannah is his teddy girl assistant from London. Written for Trinity Week Day 3: Future/Past + 50s/60s. I'm over there at wordharvest.tumblr.com. This is not real life.

Hannah sees a lot of pretty girls, but Grace Helbig may be the prettiest. 

When the girl arrives, she’s adjusting Gil’s camera on the tripod, a smudge of grease on her face from scrubbing away at the car lot this morning. They forget to tell you, when you come to America, that the work does not come easy, that the dream job in Hollywood requires a second, third, fourth job at dingy diners or garages with slippery men breathing down your neck. It’s hard to remember, in those moments, that every exhausted hour is worth the prize of the American dream. 

Grace - she feels a lot like a dream to Hannah, right now. 

Her hair falls in curling blonde waves around her face, eyes wide and brown and fringed by long eyelashes like the cows Hannah saw on the train through Missouri. Her nose is pert and rounded, mouth curving into a hesitant smile; she looks as if this dimly lit office in the back alley of Hollywood is a surprise, and Hannah likes that, that look of wonder. There’s not a lot of innocence left in this town of sex and rock and greed. 

When she realizes she’s staring, she looks down sheepishly. Wiping her hands on her trousers, she rushes forward, shaking her hand and that of the pinched-face man standing next to her, one hand pressing against her lower back protectively. Grace’s fingers are delicate and soft, with carefully polished red nails. 

“You must be Grace,” she breathes, and Grace’s eyes flicker down shyly. “Mr. Elvgren is running a bit late, he’s asked me to set everything up.” 

The man - her manager, she presumes - glares down at her. Men in America are threatened by her trimmed hair and men’s jackets, it seems, and they believe her small stature is enough to intimidate them. But Hannah was born in the cobbled alleys of London, growing up under the shadow of the bomb shelters and radio static of the second world war, and no man is going to shame her into submission. 

“We expected a meeting with Elvgren, not his housekeeper. Ms. Helbig has a schedule to keep.” 

Hannah breathes out through her nose, counting to three patiently. “He’ll keep to the schedule, sir, I can assure you I can handle Ms. Helbig’s prep on my own.” 

His beady eyes remain suspicious, but his hand releases Grace’s back and Hannah shoots him a conciliatory smile. 

“I’ll be back at 5 o’clock, sharp,” he snaps, and both girls watch his retreat coupled by a grudging look over the shoulder. When the door clicks shut, Grace sighs. 

“I’m sorry about him,” she says, and Hannah is struck by the lazy cadence of her voice, reminding her of hot days in New York City and the shouts of women selling fish on the wharf by the Atlantic. “He’s protective because he’s think he’s found something good in me, but it’s really just my looks, honest. I wanted to do radio, because it’s just fascinating, but he says I’m meant for television. He says all the good actresses go to Gil if they want to get famous, goodness knows I think he’s silly for it -” 

Hannah thinks she could listen to Grace ramble forever, but a pale hand claps over her mouth, pink crawling up her cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I’ve only just met you. I’m terribly nervous.” 

Hannah shoves her hands deep into her pockets. Grace really is enchantingly beautiful, and Hannah isn’t keen to admit that her legs are shaking slightly and that there is no way in the lord’s good earth that Grace is more nervous than Hannah. So she offers her a smile and says, “There’s nothing to be nervous about, doll. We’ll take good care of you.” 

*** 

The dressing room isn’t much more than a couple mirrors lit by rows of fluorescent bulbs and chairs, tucked away from the studio by Japanese folding stands. Grace sits, legs crossed primly, but the eager way she leans forward and looks into the mirror betrays the mirage of elegance. Her pink lips are parted, just so, and Hannah can control her fluttery feelings around girls most days on the job, but there’s something about the way her blonde curls spill over her shoulders that makes her heart stumble and blush. 

She’s staring, again, so when Grace looks at her expectantly she turns quickly to grab her costume from the hanger nearby. It’s a black number with sheer stockings and a garter belt, and it feels wrong somehow to hand it to Grace, so she averts her eyes. Grace takes it, holding it up experimentally. 

“Oh.” 

“Yes, I - sorry, I’ll just turn away while you change.” Hannah plucks nervously at her coat sleeves, scarlet scrawling up her neck and ears. She busies herself with straightening the row of lacy corsets and luscious scarves, and she can hear the soft swish of silk against the floor as Grace’s overcoat drops. She tries so hard not to imagine the way Grace’s long legs would slip out of the modest dress as it dropped, pulling off undergarments to replace them with the black chemise. Her feet would slip into the thigh-highs, hitching the garters to pull the fabric up her smooth thighs.  
And even though Hannah is staring at blue taffeta and feathered hats instead of Grace’s smooth collarbones, the moment’s intimacy burns at her skin until she wonders if Los Angeles’ heat has crawled into her chest and lit a fire amidst her ribs. 

The silence stretches. Grace clears her throat at long last, and Hannah turns. Grace’s hands are brushing awkwardly at her hips, as if trying to cover her delicate curves clad in a Hollywood fantasy. Hannah snatches up the blue shawl - the color of the ocean near Santa Monica - and tosses it to her. She catches it gratefully and wraps it around her exposed shoulders. 

“You look - you look beautiful, Ms. Helbig.” Hannah says shyly. “If you’ll just sit so I can do up your hair?” 

She walks around to stand behind the chair, to see her reflection and Grace’s in the grimy mirror. Grace’s large eyes are trained on her face curiously. 

“Are you from England?” 

“Yes,” Hannah admits, taking bobby pins to spin Grace’s curls up around her ears. “I moved here to work in the film industry. It’s been a bit hard, but Gil’s been good to me.” 

Grace takes the tube of red lipstick Hannah proffers. “I wish I were brave enough to strike out on my own. This is the first time I’ve even been away from home, and I’ve had an escort the whole time.” 

“You could be.” The words rush from her lips, tripping on her tongue. “You could be anything you want to be.” 

Her hands hesitate on the tube, fingers trembling. “Do you really think so?” 

“Of course,” Hannah promises. “Always.” 

Grace’s lips curve up into a glorious smile. The two lock eyes briefly, before a crashing from the other room and Gil Elvgren’s voice calling out loudly make Hannah jump. 

“We’re almost ready, sir!” 

She turns Grace’s chair around, and bends down on one knee. “Just one last thing, pretty lady.” Grabbing the strappy silver heels, she slips one, than the other, onto Grace’s stocking-clad feet gently. A shiver runs through her body as the tips of her fingers brush against her silky arch. 

“You’re good,” she says, standing, her throat dry and scratchy. “Gil will take care of you now.” 

Grace stands, and grips Hannah’s hand in both of hers. “Thank you,” she says fervently. “And I - I don’t even know your name.” 

Her eyelashes flutter expectantly. 

“It’s Hannah.” 

“Hannah.” And something about the way Grace rolls the a’s in her mouth, as if they’re something secret and treasured, makes her heart speed up. “Thank you, Hannah.” 

She watches her leave, her figure cutting a shape in the air that makes this smoky room a bit more beautiful. And later, when Hannah sees Gil bend over his camera, clicking away furiously as Grace dips here and there, there’s a moment when Grace bends just so. Her eyes lift and lips part joyfully, meeting Hannah’s gaze full on, and Hannah knows that’s the shot. Hannah’s heart is alight with something warm and bright, and this, this moment feels like coming home after a very long time away: an embrace, a kiss, a whisper of “I love you.” 

She smiles back. 

*** 

fin


End file.
